Abby is Eight

On the 24th, my daughter Abby turned eight.

To celebrate, she requested a "luau." Her internal definition of this was quite loose and involved fish, leis, pineapple, grass skirts, torches and music. The genesis of this was the end of the school year LAST year, when the class had a luau of sorts to send off the year. Apparently, she needed to make it her own badly enough that she hung onto it for a year.

I hung netting and bought pineapple, made mix disks and invited a bunch of girls over to bash the hell out of a Tiki head pinata in my front yard, infuriating the ill-behaved nextdoor neighbor girl who was pointedly not invited. There was playing in water, dancing, numerous ad hoc congaesque line dance-marching, making torches out of construction and tissue paper, and many Abby-chosen party foods like black olives, wasabi peas, beef jerky and multi-colored Goldfish. The girls crashed in the living room after midnight after watching (and singing along with) Frozen, which, I grant you, is perhaps an odd choice for a luau-themed event.

The following day, her actual birthday, she never made it out of PJs. They had a Wake 'n' cake 'n' bacon breakfast, followed by present opening and playing around until folks went home. She requested Chinese take out late in the day and spent relaxing time playing with her new My Little Pony and Lego toys, among others.

At eight, she is mercurial. She wakes up in a good mood and goes to bed grumpy. She loves and is fiercely loyal to her family and friends and quick to stick up for an underdog or smaller person. She likes to race my car to the stop sign in the mornings after I drop her with her walking partners, and thinks it's stupid that she has to ride in the back while still kind of wanting to keep her car seat. She hates when you won't listen. She is easily flustered by choice situations, especially when they are arbitrary. The other day she openly wept at the ZZ Ward song "Last Love Song," which is admittedly sad. She's excited about learning to REALLY ride her bike and her backstroke back this Summer. According to data collected by her mom this morning, she's on track to be about 6'1" when she's finished growing into her feet and legs. She generally has fewer bruises than she used to, but that's because she's getting better at stuff. She still needs to be tucked in every night, and listens to the same mix CD she's had for about a year.

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Abby is Eight

On the 24th, my daughter Abby turned eight.

To celebrate, she requested a "luau." Her internal definition of this was quite loose and involved fish, leis, pineapple, grass skirts, torches and music. The genesis of this was the end of the school year LAST year, when the class had a luau of sorts to send off the year. Apparently, she needed to make it her own badly enough that she hung onto it for a year.

I hung netting and bought pineapple, made mix disks and invited a bunch of girls over to bash the hell out of a Tiki head pinata in my front yard, infuriating the ill-behaved nextdoor neighbor girl who was pointedly not invited. There was playing in water, dancing, numerous ad hoc congaesque line dance-marching, making torches out of construction and tissue paper, and many Abby-chosen party foods like black olives, wasabi peas, beef jerky and multi-colored Goldfish. The girls crashed in the living room after midnight after watching (and singing along with) Frozen, which, I grant you, is perhaps an odd choice for a luau-themed event.

The following day, her actual birthday, she never made it out of PJs. They had a Wake 'n' cake 'n' bacon breakfast, followed by present opening and playing around until folks went home. She requested Chinese take out late in the day and spent relaxing time playing with her new My Little Pony and Lego toys, among others.

At eight, she is mercurial. She wakes up in a good mood and goes to bed grumpy. She loves and is fiercely loyal to her family and friends and quick to stick up for an underdog or smaller person. She likes to race my car to the stop sign in the mornings after I drop her with her walking partners, and thinks it's stupid that she has to ride in the back while still kind of wanting to keep her car seat. She hates when you won't listen. She is easily flustered by choice situations, especially when they are arbitrary. The other day she openly wept at the ZZ Ward song "Last Love Song," which is admittedly sad. She's excited about learning to REALLY ride her bike and her backstroke back this Summer. According to data collected by her mom this morning, she's on track to be about 6'1" when she's finished growing into her feet and legs. She generally has fewer bruises than she used to, but that's because she's getting better at stuff. She still needs to be tucked in every night, and listens to the same mix CD she's had for about a year.